Taniua… Jameni
Si you know I’m Kenyan? (Nah, don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical).
So that means you know I know psychiatry is for mad people (potriz), right?
And, that I’m also well aware therapy is for rich people; those with sleek cars, and have big titles right before their normal three names (Dr, Md, Mheshimiwa… JKUAT Alumni, Advocate etc). This is a letter to all Kenyans.
Those who use Amazon instead of Jumia.
Those who don’t drink tap water, ’cause, uh, apparently, there are contaminants (lead and bacteria…etc) in the pipes, which occasionally, find their way into the water, then, you, being a university graduate, you drink it… eeww, yuck!.
Those who take espresso with milk, and chocolate powder.
Those who read New York Times instead of People’s Daily Kenya. ‘Cause, apparently, the world is just a global village to them, and they have to anticipate the tides of the ‘village’.
At least they are the only people who have the luxury to experience the term, “global village” in its truest sense; ’cause, uh, they have the means, duh.
They don’t necessarily need to have iPhone Pro Max…(whatever), or Galaxy Note 10 with them.
But, sure, they have an expensive smartphone, and they use their email whole lot. Like, all the time.
Me, on the other hand… But, today, no. Not about me.
I’m not on the stand, so let’s not even go there. ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to go there.
*********************************************
Since I’m Kenyan, you should also probably know that I have it in my blood to always try to boast about my mess.
I think it’s only Kenyans, who compete on who has it way worse than the guy next door. Let me do a quick search and confirm … Um… yap, we’re the only one.
And it’s not like there’s one victim who is like, a saint in all of this. No. We are all preys and predators. We are all victims, in one way or another. We just take shifts.
Jalang’o knows it better.
Take for instance someone asking for a loan,
“Sasa? Mazee si umepotea… Ni kubaya nanii… Imagine gas imeisha na sijarefill. Doh noma msee. Uko na thao unikopeshe then nitakulipa next week…”
And then this other guy, who is seemingly the prey, suddenly becomes the predator,
“Eeeh, mazee… Heri wewe uko na gas… Mi hata nakula kwa jirani. Ilibidi nimeuza gas ndio nibuy stock ya chakula ndio nipike na jirani…”
We’re Kenyans, man. And, it is what it is.
Funny thing is we know it. We are aware of how messed up we are. But we just go ahead with it. We vote for the same people who screwed us weeks ago. And we vouch for them. We give them chances.
We just open up to them with our crippled hearts, our empty stomachs, dry mouths (yet we shout and sing their songs), and fed up minds… but we still get to do it, over and over again.
I guess you can say we’re hopeful (apart from insanity. The line is blurry, though, right?).
Maybe we are still waiting for Canaan. Raila had promised us, but that ship sailed, man, and it seems from the very beginning we were boarding Titanic.
And it hit the iceberg.
Funny thing, though, is we haven’t drowned, yet. Kenya is still that country people steal millions and billions, and it’s not the fact that they are getting away with it which surprises me; rather it’s this question:
“where is all this money coming from?”
“Why aren’t we in a financial crisis, like Greece, if all people do is take and take?”
*********************************************
Point I’m trying to make is, this is my therapy.
Here, right now, in this moment. It’s therapy for me. It’s like, I get to come out here, in front of you, guys; rip myself open, show you my insides, then stroll a bit (and say hi to Avril’s page. She’s one of the Kenyan finest, isn’t she? Okay, maybe Sanaipei Tande, too).
And when I’m done, I sew myself up, then go back to the hole which I came from, feeling lighter.
And, somehow enlightened.
And, also, somehow confident that I can trust Jalang’o again, when this thing of boys’ club ends. It’s not that I don’t trust what he previously wrote on his wall, no.
It’s just that… It’s my crush who I don’t trust. I don’t trust her, yet.
She might be a victim of the boy’s club.
Or worse; the predator.
‘Cause, I won’t lie, these are trying times for all of us. And, we all know trying times are the same as the ‘oven’ for the term, “shit happens,” right?
I mean, just the other day, we were discussing Waititu’s impeachment… now it’s Jalang’o versus anti-boys’ club (Edgar Obare) and Murkomen versus Orengo.
We really need to sanitize our minds, too, osiepna. We have to, ’cause if we don’t, then I don’t know, yawa. I just don’t know.
DID YOU ENJOY READING THIS ARTICLE? SHARE IT WIDELY & LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS DOWN BELOW.
What do you think has not been addressed in this open letter to all Kenyans? Which country are you from? Do people in your country also behave like this, or is it just Kenyans?
Comments
. So that means you know I know psychiatry is for mad people (potriz), right?){kind=link}